


The Moon is Crumbling (But That's Okay)

by thegreatandpowerfultoaster



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Character Death, Cows, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Melanie has a sword and i think that oughta sell it to you, Mild Gore, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, When i say major character death i very much mean it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandpowerfultoaster/pseuds/thegreatandpowerfultoaster
Summary: A zombie apocalypse au! Actual summary pending.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. Side A, Track I

**Present Day:**

Jon is pulled out of his comfortable, dreamless sleep by the telltale scratching of nails and bone on wood, and the upset moos of a cow. He sighs, and without opening his eyes flops over. "Martin, you didn't close the barn door."

It takes a moment for Martin to register what he's said, coming out of what Jon safely assumes was an equally peaceful sleep. When Martin does register it however, he leaps out of bed and throws the door open, swearing. Jon hears the front door open and the screen door swing shut, and then yelling that he can't quite make out. 

Jon pulls the warm sheets off himself, and moseys out the hallway, then put the door to the porch, where he has the perfect view of Martin gently prodding the interloper with a stick, ushering him out of the barn and using his free hand to make exasperated sort of gestures. 

It's cute. It's beyond cute, even. Jon takes a moment to pull on his boots, and roll his stuff neck in a slow circle, before joining Martin, and pressing a kiss to his forhead. "You go calm Maggie down, I'll handle this."

Martin hands over the long stick, and starts plodding back toward the barn.

Jon lowers the stick, instead opting to use at as a walking stick, and with each step he takes the stick sinks into the soft dark ground.

"Alright," he takes Michael by the collar and gets a rough sigh in return, as well as broken hands trying to find purchase but instead just meeting the air in front of them. "I'm very sorry mister Shelley, but we've got to go back in the house now, you've given Maggie quite the fright, and I don't think Martin's apt to forgive you anytime soon."

Another sound from Michael, a gurgling one this time, as Jon gently pushes him towards the shed in the back of the property. How he'd gotten out of there in the first place was a bit of a concern, of course, but with the condition that particular shed was in, it wasn't all the much of a surprise. Just bad luck that Martin had forgotten to latch the barn doors closed, and the wind had blown them open, or something.

Michael is slow, shuffling along the wet, in an ground, but Jon likes to say that he's incredibly fast, for a corpse. Michael would not have found that funny, but he might've found the rest of the situation so, Jon can't say for certain. Martin Knew Michel much better than he ever did. 

He uses the stick to pry the door the rest of the way open, and is met with the scent of musty wood, damp straw, and the ever lovely rotting flesh, or as Martin liked to call it, Wet Zombie. 

It's horrible, but less so than it ought to be. He ushers Michael into a corner, and rakes through his disastrous blonde hair with one hand, and tries to ignore that it doesn't at all fix the problem, and instead a great deal of the blonde hair ends up irreversibly in Jon's hand. He hums, like this doesn't at all bother him, and shakes off his hand until the hair falls into the straw, nearly unnoticeable. 

"Alright," Jon says again, toeing around a bit of the straw. "You stay here, now, and I promise I will not put off talking to Martin about your dinner again. Seem acceptable?"

No noise, not even a growl through rotting vocal colds. Jon chooses to take this as an answer in the affirmative. He backs up slowly, put again into the sunlight. Michael doesn't follow, and Jon latches the door firmly shut and then shoves the stick through the door. He'll get to really fixing it, eventually, but it's not a major priority at the moment.

He shuffles back to the house, likely looking quite a bit like Michael as he does. There screen door opens and shuts with a creak and a click, causing Martin to look up from the stove. "Wash your hands!" He says.

"You don't know that I touched him!"

"You did, you think he's like a dog. Wash your hands Jonathan Blackwood!"

"I know the difference between a zombie and a dog," He says, as he's turning on the sink. Martin smiles over the pan of eggs he's making, and Jon rolls his eyes. It's a familiar squabble, a comfortable one, even. There's really nothing to it but routine. Jon shuts the siblings and dries his hands, he's halfway to the table when he hears the sound. A soft rumbling, growing a little louder as it continues. "That'll be Melanie and Georgie. I wasn't expecting them so early."

"I'd better make more eggs then. They must've left early, right? Magnus is almost an hour out, even driving."

"Yes...I - I hope everything's alright there."

"Those two can definitely handle themselves, but we've got a spare bedroom, if somethings wrong." He doesn't look away from the window, and Martin puts a hand on his shoulder and watches with him, the approach of a sleek silver motorcycle with two figures on it. 

The engine cuts, and Jon takes that as his cue to shuffle back out to the porch, and watch Georgie wrestle the kickstand down, and Melanie slip her sword back into its sheath. "Good morning!" He calls across the front lawn. "You're early."

"Had to leave early," Georgie calls back. "Got kicked out at nine."

Kicked out? Of Magnus?

"Well, that sounds promising. Martin's making eggs, why do you both come in and explain to me how one gets kicked out of an entire settlement."


	2. Side B, Track I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some minor edits to this chapter as of March 26th, 2020! A nothing huge, just smooths out a bit of later plot.

**Three Years Ago:**

It had been a fairly regular afternoon at work. Tim had been bothering him about a particular article he was writing all morning - Something about how it was supposed to be a fluff piece, and _Jon, do you even know what a fluff piece is?_

Of course he does. This just...Wasn't the assignment for him, but he'd still get it done. After the third time of Tim peering over his shoulder, and saying something about word choice, he finally snapped. "I'll finish it at home, thank you. In fact, I think I'll be headed home now, if you don't mind."

Tim just shrugs at him. It's not even an hour early, as is, and he's probably just as done with Jon as Jon is with him. "Okay, I won't tell. 'Specially since Sasha's still out sick."

"Michael too?" Tim nods. "My, I hope they're both alright soon. Whatever's been going around is terrible."

"I know, seems like everyone I can think of has got it. You'll have the article in tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, I'll email it to you tonight, or have it for you in the morning. Thank you, Tim."

The second thank you is more sincere, but is still tired, and does not want to be in the office a moment longer than he has to, at this point. He packs up his laptop, and his keys, and his wallet and makes his way out into the street, and then onto the tram home. 

It seems that people are coughing everywhere around him, and sneezing, but that is easy enough to chock up to his own never-ending paranoia. He simply resolves to wash his hands (twice) when he gets back to his flat.

(He gets through one and a half times before there is a desperate sounding knock on his door). 

He does not want to get it, but it might be Georgie, back from her trip and wanting to pick up the Admiral. That was supposed to happen today, right? 

He opens the door just a hair, and is met by a clearly panicking Martin. Jon nearly shuts the door again, because he does not want to talk to his neighbor, and God forbid of Martin needs help with something. "Jon? Oh thank god, you're home. I - Have you seen the news?"

He does not hate Martin Blackwood, and is adamant about that. He does strongly dislike him, however and he very much wishes he would go away, and leave Jon to his evening.

"No, I haven't. I just got home, in fact. What exactly are we panicking about?"

Martin gives him a look best described as pitying, and runs a hand through his curly ginger (or blonde? Jon can never tell which it is) hair. "I - I just think you should look at the news, I don't know...I don't think you'll believe me if I tell you."

Jon sighs, weighs his opions, and steps out of a doorway. "Come in. Don't let the cat out, alright?"

Martin does, hands behind his back like he's afraid he'll touch something, and Jon will snap at him. He might, but he feels distantly awful for giving off that impression on the first place. He has to search for a minute to find the remote - it isn't that he's particularly messy, just unorganized. It only takes a moment to find a news channel.

_" - Right now, we have no confirmation that this new disease has anything to do with the riots occurring all over the world, but it's recommended that citizens remain in their homes until a solution can be procured."_

"Alright," He turns to Martin, and squints. "What, exactly am I meant to be getting out of this?" 

"Just wait until they cut to footage of the riots again," he says, sounding terribly somber and resigned. 

They stand there in silence for a moment, behind Jon's sofa, watching the news. And then he sees it.

The first thought is how they can run the footage at all. It's...Horribly graphic, even from the arial angle. He watches for a moment, not quite sure why to say. It looks as though it started as a normal protest. There seem to be prices of colorful cardboard and poster board littering the ground, but they've been long abandoned, and Jon would have to put a lot of effort to pretend he doesn't know what it is splattered on many of them. "Are they...Eating each other?"

Martin doesn't meet his eyes, but nods at the couch. "Yeah. I...I don't want to sound crazy or anything, but do you think..."

"Do I think what, exactly?" The panic hasn't exactly set in, yet. Maybe that's good. Jon watches The Admiral bounce up onto the couch cushions and then on the back of the couch, and pets him absentmindedly as Martin collects himself.

"Do you think - So you think it's like the zombie apocalypse?"

He looks like he's expecting Jon to laugh. "Well, unless there's been a sudden uptick in the cannibal population, I'm not certain what else to think."

"Oh." 

They sit silently again, for a moment, and _then_ the panic sets in. "I have to call Georgie - She's out of town, I -"

"I'll go. I've got to make a call, too. I - Thanks for not thinking I'm crazy, Jon."

He barely hears him, as he grabs The Admiral in one arm and the phone in the other, and begins a steady pace around the room. He does catch it though, and proffers up a half-hearted "It was nothing, really," in response. 

Georgie doesn't pick up the first time, and Jon's left to watch the continued footage of these 'riots' (as if anyone would look at the going-on's and think, ' _yes, they're clearly upset about an issue, as one should be'_.) while the ringing goes on and on. 

_"Hello?"_ She says the second time he calls, and Jon is forced to pry his eyes away from the spectacle.

"Georgie. Where are you?"

_"Driving back, what the hell do you mean? I said we'd be by around eight, after we dropped everyone else off, and you said okay -"_

"Have someone turn on the news. Don't stop driving, just get Melanie or Sarah or someone to pull it up. Not on a radio, they need to see the video."

_"You're being weird again, I hope you know that. Fine. Just hang on a second."_

Jon keeps pacing the front room, though the muffled sounds of speaking and then silence. The Admiral squirms from his grasp, at some point.

Georgie comes back on, after about three minutes. _"Tell me this is a joke."_

"No. No, I don't think that it is. I'm...not sure what to do about it, though."

 _"Get out of town!"_ She says. _"Look, Melanie's parents have a place out in the middle of nowhere. Get a bag and pack, and we'll stay out there until we're told that this isn't...exactly what it looks like."_

"And what if it _is_ exactly what it looks like?"

_"I don't know, Jon. One thing at a time. Just get ready to go, we'll still be there in three hours."_

"Okay. I'll be ready."

He hasn't even began to pack, a half hour later, but at least he knows for certain this time that it isn't Georgie. Acrually, it's Martin again, looking just as nervous as the first time. Jon lets him in on autopilot. "Did you call your friend? Were they okay?" 

Jon ushers him over to the couch, and Martin sits like he isn't sure he's supposed to. "Yes, Georgie's fine, she's going to drop by in a couple hours, and then we're going to...Going to go."

"Oh. That seems...Smart. Going, I mean."

"What if -" He immediately shuts himself up. No. No, open is not inviting Martin along on this pseudo road-trip. Martin is a horrible neighbor, and all around a nuisance, and he cannot just invite people with them. That's...Absurd. 

The way he sort of scrunched in on himself, and always looks so nervous, Jon can't just leave him, can he? 

"Do you have somewhere to go? You could come with, if you wanted. I'm not sure exactly where we're going, or for how long, but -"

"I'd just get in the way, " Martin says, with the finality of someone who has convinced themselves entirely of such.

That's it, then. He doesn't want to go, and Jon doesn't have to feel bad about not offering. His mouth decides that it is not happy with this outcome and continues to speak of its own volition. "You wouldn't. I would feel much better, having you there. What if - What if I came back, and you were sick, or like one of our people out there, and you could have not been? I don't...I'm afraid I don't know you very well, but I'd still rather...You know."

"Oh I - Yeah, okay? if you're really serious, and as long as it's okay with your friend, I mean. I'll go pack?" He gets about halfway off the couch, like he's not sure about leaving.

"Yes, yes. That sounds like an excellent idea. If you run out of room, I suspect I won't have much to pack. Oh, did you reach whoever you needed to?"

He blushes, but it's not the pleasant sort, as it's accompanied by a small frown. "No, but I kind of figured I wouldn't be able to, you know? So I'll just...just hope she's okay."

Jon wants to tell him that it'll be fine, but lying never was his forte, and neither was offering mindless comfort, so he decides its in his best interest to just nod, for a moment, and say " That's unfortunate."

"B - But I'm going to go pack. Uhm. Thank you, Jon."

"Sure." 

It takes him another half hour to make himself sit down and pack for himself, and he's correct in having assumed he'd end up with extra room. He hasn't got much in the first place, and he definitely doesn't need to use it for things he hopes to be back for. 

(Upon thinking 'hopes to be back for', Jon caves in and packs a book he'd been meaning to read for the last month, and his laptop. It barely makes a dent in the space, but it makes it feel a little less sad, maybe).

(Or maybe not really.)


End file.
